


like a lost astronaut

by ohmygodwhy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Pining, Relationship Study, Unrequited Love, growing into better versions of themselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-16 18:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11258523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygodwhy/pseuds/ohmygodwhy
Summary: Oikawa Tooru was much less amazing up close—another lie, because despite the sour looks and teasing -chan he tacked onto the end of his name, Kageyama, junior high stars in his eyes, was still left wanting more. He was still stuck, still enraptured with the way Oikawa’s hands moved against the ball when he set, the raw power in his arms when he served.(or: acrush, onOikawa Tooru,of all the people in the world.)





	like a lost astronaut

**Author's Note:**

> the doc title for this is 'local milk boy has a crush' and i think that's beautiful 
> 
> anyways, the junior high kags n oik dynamic is a fav of mine and it kinda spiraled from there?? love these boys

 

i.

He doesn’t know when it starts—which is a lie, because he knows exactly when it starts, the deep Kitagawara Daiichi blue against white against chocolate-brown hair. 

He remembers walking into the gym on the first day and feeling overwhelmed with the sheer amount of _life_ inside of it, movement and sound. There were a lot of things that caught his eye, from a boy with hair that stuck straight up, to the cart full of more volleyballs than he’d ever seen in one place, to the shoulders of some upperclassmen shaking in light laughter. But he remembers seeing a boy near the other end of the gym, a player with a snub nose and big brown eyes, halfway through a jump-serve that looked like something right out of a national match on TV. 

Kageyama had thought he was amazing. He looked like he was flying.

He knows when it started, but he still doesn’t get it. 

 

ii.

Oikawa Tooru was much less amazing up close—another lie, because despite the sour looks and teasing _-chan_ he tacked onto the end of his name, Kageyama, junior high stars in his eyes, was still left wanting more. He was still stuck, still enraptured with the way Oikawa’s hands moved against the ball when he set, the raw power in his arms when he served. 

He still _wanted_ —to beat him, to be around him, to stay stuck in the starry orbit Oikawa managed to catch so many people in. 

He was still amazing, no matter how many glares he sent his way or how many times he refused to teach him anything. Kageyama didn’t understand why his eyes went soft around the other first years but hardened around him, but he knew he didn’t like it. Still, he couldn’t look away. He was young enough that he didn’t even try to.

After school, the evenings cooler than they’ve been in a while, the sun close to setting. Oikawa is almost always around someone—talking or just _being_ , people just can’t seem to stay away—but these are the times when he’s almost alone. 

“Oikawa-san,” he starts again, “Will you teach me how to serve?” 

There’s something in the line of his shoulders that’s tired, probably, or just resigned, because when he turns around he doesn’t seem as irritated as he usually does—something too preoccupied to be annoyed. Kageyama’s never been good at reading people.

“Don’t you have homework or something?” he snaps.

“I finished it all.” he answers, something like hope flaring in his chest. 

Oikawa does not look hopeful, eyes darting to the clock on the wall, “Well then, don’t you have friends to play with? I’m sure they could teach you something.” 

Here, Kageyama looks down. “Well, not really,” he admits, doesn’t want to look at Oikawa when he says it. The older boy has all kinds of friends, so many he’s amazed he can keep track of them all. 

There’s a pause, where he can feel Oikawa looking at him, “…What about Kunimi, or Kindaichi? They’re in your year, right? They seem nice.” 

Kageyama looks up again, but meets Oikawa’s eye only for a second. He doesn’t want to talk about this—it’s embarrassing, probably, not having friends—he just wants to learn how to serve. Kindaichi is nice enough, talks to him at practice sometimes, but he doesn’t think Kunimi likes him much. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbles. 

Another pause. “Kindaichi seems to like you.”

Kageyama blinks up at him, “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Oikawa nods indifferently, like he holds the world’s secrets but doesn’t care, “He’s a nice kid, I’m sure he’d play with you if you asked.” 

Still, Kageyama is hesitant. 

He hears Oikawa huff impatiently, and then, “Hey, Kindaichi!” he calls, “Kunimi! You wanna practice with us?” 

They do, because of course they do, and when Oikawa excuses himself from the game halfway through, something about meeting Iwaizumi at the front gates, the other two actually stick around to finish it. 

He doesn’t understand Oikawa at all, he thinks on the way home, Kindaichi’s hastily scrawled phone number clenched tightly in his hand. He wants to, though, he wants to understand, and he still doesn’t get it.

 

iii.

Near the very end of the year, after the night where Oikawa almost hit the ball of out his hands but before the assembly where he gets the Best Setter Award, Kageyama, cautiously, asks him again. 

Ever since Iwaizumi yelled at him a lot, Oikawa’s just been rude from a distance. He doesn’t know why he asks again, is pretty certain of the answer by now, but he asks anyways. Oikawa will be going off to high school soon, to bigger and better things, so this will be his last chance. 

He expects Oikawa to say no immediately. Instead, he crosses his arms and frowns and looks at him and goes, “Show me yours.”

“What?” he says, caught off guard. 

Oikawa crosses his arms tighter, tilts his head at the court, “Show me your serve.” 

He nods quickly, not wanting to waste this opportunity, and rushes to the back line of the court. 

“Again,” Oikawa says again afterwards. The ball hadn’t quite made it over the net. 

Kageyama quickly complies. He can feel Oikawa’s eyes on him the whole time, following the bend of his knee and the arch of his arm. 

“You’re trying to hit the ball too soon.” he says after a moment. 

Kageyama blinks up at him, eager to finally _learn something_.

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re getting so excited about hitting the ball that you’re hitting it too soon,” Oikawa says, tone light and airy, like it’s obvious to anyone who would just look hard enough, “That’s why you can’t get it over the net. In a jump serve, you need to be mindful of _when_ you hit the ball, not just how hard.”

Kageyama nods—it makes sense. “How do I know when to hit it?”

Here, Oikawa raises an eyebrow, as if Kageyama had just said something either amusing or very stupid, “I can’t teach you how to do that. It’s different for every person.”

Kageyama opens his mouth to say something, but then Oikawa smiles, just a bit, something caught halfway between that too-sweet grin he gives Iwaizumi after he’s said something rude, and something soft and real, “You’re a genius, right?” he says, “Figure it out yourself.” 

“Th-Thank you,” he says when he finds his voice, bowing low. By then, Oikawa is halfway out the door, leaving with a halfhearted peace sign and a _don’t mention it Tobio-chan—really, don’t._

It’s a cool evening, the heating in the gym temporarily broken, but his smile left him warm. He chalks it up to the thrum of excitement in his chest, and tries to move on.

 

iv.

Somewhere along the way he thinks he knows it was a _crush_. Which was— _ridiculous._

A _crush_ , on _Oikawa Tooru,_ of all the people in the world. 

And he knows exactly where it starts, but the lines of where it ends are a little bit hazy. 

It isn’t until the practice match, three years later, that Oikawa waltzes into the gym and waves at him like he hasn’t not seen him for three years, voice deeper but still light and airy, that it becomes pretty clear that those lines are non-existent. 

_Oh god,_ he thinks, as his buried junior high crush picks the perfect time to rear its ugly head again. 

He’s still everything he remembers and more, and Iwaizumi is still right there by his side, and he’s shaped Kindaichi and Kunimi into better players in the few months he’s had them than Kageyama could in two years. He’s merciless at the Interhigh prelims—he expected nothing less, but the sharp sound of the last whistle as the ball hits the ground on Karasuno’s side of the net still _hurts_. Losing isn’t unexpected, but it’s still _disappointing_. 

Losing is never fun, but it’s never felt like _this._

Despite how hard Seijou steps all over them, Kageyama sees Oikawa celebrating, laughing, and some small, young part of him still _wants._

And he still. Doesn’t. Get it.

 

v.

Kageyama runs into him again a few weeks before the Spring Tournament, at the little convenience store a few blocks from his house. 

Because Hinata’s dumb as shit and Kageyama himself isn’t much smarter, they’d spent the better part of the day holed up in Hinata’s room, going over notes that Yachi and Tsukkishimi had both lent them. Kageyama is so so bad at English, but there’s no way in hell he was gonna let _Tsukkishima’s_ stupid notes confuse him—the whole thing had given him a headache, and he left sometime in the evening with vague promises of starting again tomorrow. 

He’s in the middle of deciding between strawberry or chocolate milk when he catches the familiar timbre of Oikawa’s laugh. He glances up to see the setter—a sweater that seems a little too big to be his and thick glasses (??) that he still manages to make look good perched on his nose—pointing at something in the opposite direction. He and Iwaizumi’s hands swing between them as they walk, fingers laced together. 

Iwaizumi is rolling his eyes at something he said, but looks at him fondly, like Oikawa hung the moon and all the goddamn stars in the sky. It’s a look Kageyama has seen on him before, but never quite like _this_. Never quite this obvious. He presses a quick kiss to Oikawa’s cheek before following him down an aisle. 

_Oh_ , Kageyama thinks, all thoughts of tests and sleep forgotten. Oh. 

He picks a drink blindly—strawberry, the cashier tells him he has good taste when he checks out—and hurries out of the store before either of his two former upperclassmen can see him. 

Oh, he thinks. 

It’s not like it’s _surprising_ —not at all. If he really thinks about it, he’d be surprised if they weren’t—together. Boyfriends? he thinks vaguely. It makes sense. They’ve been together all their lives— _perfectly in sync,_ he hears all the time. If anyone can handle the _galaxy_ that Oikawa is, it’s Iwaizumi. 

He saw it coming from miles away. It’s irrational and entirely emotional and Kageyama’s never been a very emotional person, too blunt and straightforward to ever get himself caught in the kind of mind games he watched Oikawa work himself into, but it still—it still _hurts_. It hurts in a way he never expected it to—god knows he never thought he’d have a chance, not him, not with someone like Oikawa, but it’s still kind of crushing to have it suddenly thrown at him like this.

He’s so stupid. The way he used to fumble around and the way he still fumbled for advice all these years later, like some dumb lovesick schoolgirl blushing around her crush. He’s so stupid. 

He studies hard and trains hard and tries to move on. 

 

vi.

His studies and training eventually pay off. He’s so ecstatic, so _happy_ about winning that he can barely think about anything else— _they’re going to the finals. They made it._

Oikawa isn’t crying when he sees him again, back bent forward, forehead against Iwaizumi’s, hand braced against the bathroom sink. He isn’t crying—Kageyama’s happy for that, at least. He has enough conflicting emotions about the setter all stirred around in his head, he doesn’t know what he would do if he saw him crying. 

Iwaizumi is, though, quiet and still, and Oikawa is whispering, something private— _it’s not over, we still have the rest of the year, you played incredibly, I’m so proud of you_ —and so raw that Kageyama turns and leaves immediately. 

It’s not for him to hear, and he does get that. Besides, he has a bus to catch. 

 

vii.

Despite how tired he is, he stops at the convenience store again on the way home from the final match against Shiratorizawa, excitement humming in his veins and the feeling of leftover adrenaline slowly wearing off. He picks chocolate milk this time, catching his own reflection in the glass—he’s smiling, still, without making a conscious effort. Miracles really do exist, he thinks vaguely. 

He’s in the middle of fishing money out of his pocket, when he hears a sudden “Tobio-chan?” and almost drops the carton in an attempt to stand up straight. 

“O-Oikawa-san,” he stutters in surprise. He’s wearing the glasses again, making the brown of his eyes seem sharper, with a small pack of milk bread held loosely in his hand. 

Oikawa opens his mouth, shuts it, glances away, glances back at him and says “Congratulations.” 

Kageyama blinks.

“…On the game today?” Oikawa specifies.

“I know what you meant,” Kageyama snaps, vaguely embarrassed, “I was just surprised.” 

Oikawa raises an eyebrow, “It was a good game,” he shrugs, “You guys deserved the win you got.”

“You watched the game?” he can’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. 

Oikawa suddenly looks like he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be, and frowns, “Yeah, so what? Most people did.” 

“Yeah, but you hate me.” he’s never been the best with tact.

“I didn’t go just to watch _you_ ,” Oikawa says defensively, crossing his arms. “But,” He pauses a moment later, softens into something thoughtful, “I don’t… _hate_ you.” 

Something must show on Kageyama’s face—the starry-eyes middle schooler in him sings—because Oikawa glances away like he’s bracing himself. 

“I just…” he huffs, pauses, “I hate the person I am when I’m around you.” he says slowly, “You make me insecure, and petty, and _angry_ , and I don’t wanna be like that. And that’s on me, it’s my reaction to you, but it’s. Hard. You bring out the worst in me, sides I wish I didn’t have, but…I think you might also bring out the best.”

It’s incredibly honest. Mature. Kageyama doesn’t know what to say— _you bring out the best in me, too_ , maybe, or _I never wanted it to be like this_ —so he doesn’t say anything. 

“Besides,” Oikawa continues, obviously embarrassed, gesturing the way he does when he wants to change the subject “If one of you had to win, I’d it rather it be you over Ushiwaka. He’s been to nationals too many times, we need new representation.” 

 

“Oikawa-san,” he says after they’ve both payed, Oikawa halfway out the door like he’s always been.

“Yeah?”

“You, uh—you bring out the best in me, too.” he says, loud and blunt, like he’s always been.

Oikawa looks at him for a moment, and smiles, honest and open, “I know.” he says, and then “We’re at one win, one loss. You better be ready for next time.”

Kageyama nods, something warm in his chest at the thought of a _next time_ , “You too.”

They turn once they reach the street, and go their separate ways. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> comments make flowers grow


End file.
